


Selene Eyewitness

by ghirahimuwu



Category: Dr. STONE (Manga)
Genre: 18+, Enthusiastic Consent, Healthy Relationships, If I find out you're a minor and you read this i'm calling your parents, Other, Safe Sane and Consensual, They're Really in Love, this one is for my buddies at #nsfw never change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27248515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghirahimuwu/pseuds/ghirahimuwu
Summary: The timeline seems to bring forth more good than wrong. Even love is unearthed in the fine threads of fate, which will join together two of the most dedicated members of the Perseus crew. And despite their vowed professionalism, even they must indulge.
Relationships: Francois/Matsukaze
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Selene Eyewitness

**Author's Note:**

> This work is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. I'd love to make this restricted but I have no idea how, and I don't think paywalling is a good idea. Anyway you'll never see a single unhealthy thing in my fics, only love and consent.  
> Watch out for: 
> 
> Vaginal sex, mentions of medical gender transition, oral sex, sex in risky locations.

It's been roughly a month since they first got together, and things sail smoothly. Their respective masters accuse them of being highly professional, but neither the butler nor the protector can afford a drop in the quality of their services. That's why they arranged that Hyoga and Mozu keep track of their wards while they, locked inside the private cabin destined to François, spend an evening together.

In particular, François is rather collected and they seem to be in charge while Matsukaze, having observed a fairly celibate life until then, can hardly act without sparing a moment to thought. They're sitting so François has their legs hooked around his waist, and neither of them is clothed from the waist up. Matsukaze was initially too polite to inquire the nature of the twin scars beneath the core of their chest, and that didn't change until François themself told him about their past. Now he kisses the area like he does every inch of their skin, marking it sacred. To him, the ground they walk on is made divine.

To them, Matsukaze is perfection.

They desire each other burningly, with François pressing down on his restrained member with their left thigh, almost wishing it'd break free, while one of their hands is poised on his behind, testing the flesh. He melts like butter with the warmth of their expert touch, and it's something François adores to watch.

"What would you like to do today?"

Matsukaze swallows. One would never imagine he's so shy, but here he is with his voice a thread and his burning cheeks hotter than his groin.

"Can you take it this time?" he elevates his request without shame but with caution. François has left it more than clear that they're better at pleasing than being pleased, but with a very rookie boyfriend in their hands, they know to expect using the full extent of their talents.

In fact, they could find themselves considering doing it more often in such a fashion, thought they confirm once his obi is undone and his pants lowered past the considerable extension of his member. He's not girthy, by their standards, but his slight upward curve has never ceased to charm them. Like the rest of him, his member almost appears to ask for permission before bobbing slightly into their hand, ready and excited but inexperienced. This isn't their first time taking Matsukaze, so he knows what to expect when François kisses his mouth and then his glans, lips wrapping around the sensitive skin.

He gasps, a thread of voice let loose in a slip when the feeling of his partner's kisses becomes too much to keep quiet. François encourages him with a soft smile and a caress from one of their hands, covered with gloves that would never touch food, never touch anything other than _him._

Matsukaze knew they'd asked for those thin, waterproof gloves to be made specifically for him, and it made him want to swear his heart to them.

"How does this feel?" they ask him, the lilt of their voice too innocent for someone speaking with their lips against his tip and a hand working along the length.

Before his reply, he decides that no, they aren't innocent. It is the voice of immense trust and a care beyond normality.

"It feels..." he lolls his head to the side and their eyes meet, although his are clouded by the blooming tension in his groin. "François, my words fail me."

They chuckle, which sends a tremor down the member they're covering in kisses. "Is that so?"

Against the cool air of the cabin, he takes note of the wetness they're spreading with each kiss even without mouthing him grotesquely. He always imagined these acts as impure, degraded, but there is nothing such in the way François readies him for the taking; rather an intimate unfurling of creative dimensions, the joining of their bodies with the sole goal of strengthening a bond.

Though he would admit, knowing what comes _next_ speeds up his pulse. With a satisfied hum, François sits in front of him, legs poised to prepare _themself_ in kind because, as they'd disclosed, they require special care before taking anything in.

"François... Fran. May I?" he looks at them with wide pleading eyes, and their partner knows how deeply his desire runs. Without as much as a word they hold his hand, slip one of their gloves on it, and guide it to his mouth, where Matsukaze knows what to do, if having watched them before is anything to go by. Which they confirm as soon as they see how resolute his actions are the moment he wets his two digits inside his mouth.

"Make sure it's enough," they instruct.

Matsukaze knows it is when the gloves seem _glossy,_ and before he can ask, they take his mouth by surprise in a gentle kiss, never having let go of his hand and using that advantage to guide it to their core.

Both of them are already searching for more, but it is the moments before they can ride together the ones they enjoy the most, with François tending to his erection, ensuring he remains interested and lubricated; and his fingers exploring, very slowly, their entrance.

He stiffens slightly at the idea of his touch bringing pain rather than pleasure. Those folds, they had disclosed, were more sensitive than the insides, which rarely brought them satisfaction unless they were properly acclimated. So he works at the rims with painstaking attitude, his other hand lacing fingers with theirs, touching the starburst of a scar they had on the back of it. François offers him a kiss on the neck, and his fingers quiver.

"Do not be tense, _mon cœur_. What worries you?" this angel of a being smiles up at him, twitch their lips as they may they're a sight to behold. Matsukaze can only look away.

"Is this correct? Good enough?"

"i never settle for less than perfection. You provide," François calmly reassures him, and their voice slips into a cut whine as his fingers move. "If anything was the matter I would speak. Now... please don't be shy."

That last phrase goads him in the best of ways. Looking down at their face he sees their painted lips being bitten. A gesture so provocative that his shaft twitches in their hand.

Nothing escapes from François, though, and they chuckle low. "Keep going."

Matsukaze finds it in him to plunge a finger in, testing the entrance only with his scouting. Now they're moving in a way that creates friction, the damp gloves stimulating their own wetness well enough after a short while. He's reached in, attempting to prepare thoroughly as he hears their soft encouragement and mutters his own whenever their hand moves on him as well.

"I don't think we need more. Are you ready?" they seem almost stifled with excitement. It's always new when their roles set this way. Sometimes they can go for multiple rounds. Other times they can barely begin before pleasure becomes pain, and they must invert their positions.

"Yes!" Matsukaze is enthusiastic, although his voice remains rather calm. They must not stir suspicion and cause a scandal with their simple escapades!

Sure enough, in a second François shifts forward in their straddle, those lips pressing against the base of Matsukaze's length. In comparison, it seems he's big. Together, though, they know a well-prepared session can end with him buried to the hilt in them, rocking a considerable pace without hassle. It is all about the previous acts. They take him in both hands and lift their hips, letting the tip graze their folds and bobbing to allow the initial contact to secure. Then, Matsukaze kisses them and holds the small of their back firmly, letting them slowly drop on his member, an inch at a time, then rocking to test the waters in tandem, only to drop again. François sighs, enchanted with the feeling, and rests their head on the crook of his neck. "Alright. Easy, now..." they mutter, but the muscles on his pelvis shift at haphazard intervals, and with a thrust, they must remove themselves.

The sounds that come from his mouth are worrying, but quick enough it's evident... He's not crying... he's laughing!

"F-fran... your hair!" Matsukaze tries to swipe away the locks, but so abundant are their strands that his efforts are futile, only increasing his laughter.

"It tickles? One would imagine you'd be immune!" of course François is delighted by this turnout. Soon enough they start laughing together as they alternate kisses and brushes of their hair through his neck. This lasts for a moment, at the end of which Matsukaze looks, determined, into his partner's eyes. He is suddenly overcome with a wave of affection and understanding that only serves to fuel his desire further.

"How fortunate I am to be held by you," he states, his tone as mysterious as the moon itself.

"You're a poet," François chuckles and moves their hand in cupping motion along his shaft prior to seating themself in the first inch. "But I am luckiest," they kiss the corner of his lips. Soon enough, he's resting his hands on their waist. Make no mistake, it is François who guides the pace, threading their fingers in his hair and building up shared wetness to get them through, while all Matsukaze can do is watch in awe with his mouth ajar and relish in the feeling of their unity. They must suppress their voices, there is already enough incriminating sound each time they move in unison.

However, it tends to be hard to contain a few gasps and soft laughs, particularly for François, who is quite vocal. Whenever the pops of slickness arise, François snickers between their teeth, and Matsukaze, not as trained in releasing his emotions, only smiles. This is how they fare until François daringly drops down to the base of Matsukaze's shaft, whining both of them as he rubs inside, against their walls as deep as they'll take.

"Oh." François breathes out. "I'll confess to not being accustomed to–" in a reflex, he bucks his hips slightly, causing them to end their sentence prematurely. "Matsu!"

"Pardon me, I didn't intend–"

"No need." They interrupt him, rocking their hips.

His shaft slid in and out with ease, such level of lubrication they had achieved together, each time burying itself completely. To supress Matsukaze's surprise, a potentially accusing moan, they press their lips to his in a dance that's equal parts loving and hungry. It isn't long before he cannot keep up the steady pace and begins bucking however he's able to. Luckily, François adapts by tightening around him to bring him over the edge. A twitch, and they know what will happen next. "Now?"

He nods.

It happens fast. They're efficient, if nothing else: their bottom part from his shaft with a pop, and is quickly replaced by their mouth, finishing the job for him. With a groan, Matsukaze spills, and François wraps it up with ease.

"Your turn, _mon ange_."

They smile before wiping their lips.

"May I have a kiss before?" he breathily requests.

"Oh, I don't know. May you?" the most experienced of the two of them is, without a doubt, François. It shows in the way they guide his face to theirs with a hand and reward him briefly, until he shifts and goes to their reddened folds, to push François over the edge with his tongue.

They'd be lying if they didn't recognize just how good he is with it, drawing sighs and moans from them with barely a flick. He gets it done, and quick, licking until he's certain they're satisfied.

Their eyes narrow with gratitude, and his hand is guided to the butler's mouth for a kiss of courtship.

"How did that feel?"

"Perfect. I hope I met your expectations."

"As you do every night," they smile and hug him tightly, a gesture he returns while littering kisses on their neck and shoulder.

They are efficient, if nothing else. In a blink they detangle and clean away all traces of their rendezvous. Both hairdos are primly fixed, clothes accomodated over their frames with professional zeal. The servants return to their positions, exchanging silent nods of recognition with their momentary replacements. The moon is their witness.


End file.
